at the foot of the cliff
by wild-and-whirling-words
Summary: At the foot of the cliff, the sea ebbs and flows, stirred up by the wind and the rain. In the house at the top of the cliff, a girl goes slowly mad. Written in response to a Tumblr prompt. Warnings: this fic contains references to PTSD and details violence in minor detail.


**at the foot of the cliff**

Annie has grown up with the spray of the sea in her hair and the crash of the waves in her ears. Never before has it sounded so menacing.

She watches it from on high: the window is flecked with rain, the droplets beating down upon the glass as if they would shatter it. The wind screeches down the chimney. Beneath the cliffs, the obsidian waters are churned up by the storm, rushing and roaring in and out, with such ferocity that she fears the whole District will be swallowed up.

Her fingers, white at the knuckles, lose their grip on the sill and she slides down the wall to the floor.

_The water seeps in slowly at first, just wetting the soles of her feet, but it rises and rises and soon she is on her tiptoes, chin tipped up to keep her face above the surface. Slowly, teasingly, it continues to creep upwards; she is sucking in desperate breaths through her nose because it's over her mouth now. Now she cannot breathe at all. Eyes wide, she begins to struggle. The salt water fills her nostrils; she can taste it at the back of her throat. She tries to tread water, but the current is too strong, it keeps dragging her under and her limbs tire quickly. Her chest is burning, she is sure her lungs are about to burst when –_

Heavy breathing. She can hear it before she realises it's her own, heart hammering against her ribs, ribcage expanding and contracting rapidly. She is dry but she can still hear the water moving restlessly below.

At the foot of the cliff, the sea ebbs and flows, stirred up by the wind and the rain.

She claws at her ears, tearing at her own flesh, blood caking under her nails, as if she can wrest the sound from her brain.

At the foot of the cliff, the sea ebbs and flows, stirred up by the wind and the rain.

It is like she has a conch pressed up against the shell of her ear: the sound will not leave her.

She does not know how long she sits there for, frozen with her hands over her ears; a minute, perhaps, an hour. A lifetime. She looks like she could be made from marble were it not for the movement of her eyes, darting from side to side as if she expects the shadows themselves to spring to life, and her lips. They move ceaselessly, forming one word over and over: "no, no, no, no, no…"

But it is a silent plea. If she speaks aloud, or even breathes too loudly, they will find her.

They, the consummate hunters with their knives and their axe, stalking through the darkness in quick pursuit of her.

It is dark and she is so tired, but she must not sleep, for if she sleeps she will scream and they will find her.

Footsteps.

For a moment, she is disorientated. It is light outside. She must have slept. But the sound is not one of twigs snapping or of bodies pushing through the undergrowth. It is the creak of a stair. Still her heart begins to pound.

"No, no, no, no, no…"

"Annie?"

"No, no, no, no, no…"

"_Annie…" Their voices are mocking, edged with laughter as they hunt. A pack of them, they track her through the woods, "Oh, Annie…" They are getting closer. _

"Annie?" There comes the sound of doors opening and closing.

_A blade is slashed through the air, she hears it whistle and then connect with the limb of a tree. It snaps, severs and crashes down into the leaves. All she can think of is Danio and how his head rolled when it was disconnected from his body. She has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep the screams in. _

"_Annie?" _

"Annie?"

The door opens and closes.

"No, no, no, no, no…" Her hand is clapped over her mouth to keep the screams in, and she is rocking backwards and forwards, eyes open, seeing something far away. Her whole body is trembling.

Finnick steps forward and drops to his knees in front of her, stretching out a hand.

"Annie," he whispers, and his voice is soft. His touch is gentle, unthreatening, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers, wanting her to look him in the eye, to recognise him, to know that she is safe now.

All she hears is, _"Annie? Annie? Come out, come out, wherever you are…" _and she jerks away like he's got steel pressed against her throat, eyes wild with terror.

He makes a sympathetic sound and draws her into his arms, dropping a tender kiss to the top of her head. Legs drawn up to her chest, she is all angles, elbows and knees. She doesn't fight him, but sits frozen in his embrace. He fiddles with her hair, braiding it to disguise how his hands are shaking at the sight of her.

She is scared, and he is scared of breaking her.

He doesn't speak, and she doesn't either. Her eyes are closed, her lips are still. Her breath flutters in and out, her heartbeat slows. He wonders if she is asleep.

No, her hands are tightening around his forearm, clutching at him like that will hold her together. She opens her eyes and when she looks up, they are focused, staring straight into his. Her lips turn down in confusion.

"Finnick?" she whispers, her throat tight.

"I'm here," he assures her hoarsely. "I'm here, you're safe, you're safe…" And suddenly he is crying and she is crying as she twists round to throw her arms about his neck. Their lips crash together, as fervent as the waves upon the rocks, and saltwater mingles on their cheeks. "You're safe."

And the rushing of the sea recedes so she hears only him.


End file.
